How the Phantom came to be
by PlainJane101
Summary: Erik felt as though he was condemned to live in solitude, hidden from the world, till the end of his days. But then he met Gustave Daae, who promised to help him so that one day he'd be able to face the world. Little did Gustave expect that he'd create the Phantom of the Opera and pass the task of helping Erik to his daughter, Christine. pre-POTO 2004 movie.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** Hello, so this is my first Phantom fanfic. I have done a little research into the novel Phantom and the play adaptation and realize that many people have taken different spins off of this, so here is my spin. This takes place before the events of the Phantom of the Opera 2004 movie. I hope you like it. :) Tell me what you think in your reviews. There will be a point in time, probably about the third chapter, where I don't know where to go, so just a heads up if you like this, you can leave suggestions in your reviews on where I should take this story next after the 3 chapter if all goes according to plan. I'll let you know if anything changes. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this read and let me know what you think in your review.

Ladies and Gentleman,

sit back,

relax,

and enjoy the read!

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_**January 24, 1858**_

Her father lies there on his bed, dying. She stands at the foot of the double bed, so much grief and pain filling her as she watches his labored breathing. He's suffering.

Her emotions swell so much inside her that she can't properly release them. Instead, her nostrils burn, a large lump forms in her throat and her vision blurs with tears that refuse to fall. If only she cries out, if only the tears fall, then maybe she can breathe a little easier. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

"Christine." Her father calls her weakly. She tries to see him, but her tears prevent her from seeing him beckoning her to his side.

"Go to him, Christine." Antoinette says. "Go to his side, child." The seven year old girl tries to go to his side, but she bumps into the oak wood bedframe at the foot of the bed.

"I…can't see." Christine reaches out for support, fear filling her as she grabs nothing, but a small relief soothes her when Antoinette takes her hand and guides her to her father's side. Although blinded by tears, she does not jump in fright when Antoinette dabs her eyes with a handkerchief, clearing her vision. She sees her father clearly, but even though he smiles up at her, she can't help the tears that blur her vision once more.

"Let it out, Christine" Her father tries to console her as he takes her hand in his. His grip is so loose that Christine squeezes his hand to keep them connected. "My sweet, sweet child. You look so much like your mother."

"And…like you." Christine chokes out as she lets the tears stream down her cheeks.

"Yes." He gives her a half nod, unable to lift his head the whole way. "Listen well, daughter." He waits a couple of seconds. "Are you listening?"

"You know…I am, Papa."

"Good. When I am gone, child, I will send you the Angel of Music."

"I…don't understand." She begins to cry, almost gagging on the lump in her throat as she tries to compose herself so that she can hear his quiet voice.

"In time you will, Christine. In time." He draws an unsteady, deep breath, Christine instantly knowing he's about to die. "I love you." His last words. His hand falls limp in hers. His chest ceases to rise. He is…no, no, he can't be. He can't be.

"Papa?" Christine squeezes his hand, hoping that maybe this is some sort of sick joke he's trying to pull off. He doesn't move. "Papa?"

She cries out, throws herself onto his dead form and buries her face into the crook of his neck, muffling her sobs. Antoinette hugs Christine, resting her cheek atop her thick chestnut curls. She, too, cries silently, already accepting that her dear friend is gone. Gustave Daae, one of the most talented and most passionate violinists in the orchestra of the Opera Populaire, is now gone.

He promised he'd send Christine the Angel of Music. Antoinette recalls the time she was pregnant with her daughter, Meg, six years ago when Gustave first started playing the violin in the orchestra.

The two met each other through Gustave's wife, who was a good friend of Antoinette's before she met Gustave. Charlotte was her name. She sadly passed away in childbirth. Her death was what brought Gustave from Strasbourg to Paris to seek employment at the Opera House. When the Maestro heard his talent and passion for music and the manager of the Opera questioned his past experience and skill, he had the job. As he started to adjust to the new job, his new home that he had recently bought, and his new life without his dear Charlotte and taking care of a baby, he and Antoinette grew closer and became very good friends.

One night, as Antoinette rubbed her round belly, she walked with Gustave through the backstage corridors in the Opera. They were talking and laughing about the joys and hardships of having to care for a baby. That's what they found in common. He was taking care of a baby and Antoinette saw him as a well of knowledge concerning what to expect when she would care for her own infant.

"How badly does it hurt to give birth…" Antoinette stopped, realizing that she was asking a man about this.

"I am not a woman." Gustave said.

"Well, aren't you Capitaine évident (obvious)." The two chuckled at the small joke. Then it seemed out of nowhere that a small prop, the top half of a shepherd's staff, fell onto Gustave's head.

"Ah!" He cried out as he placed his hand atop his head, rubbing it. The two lifted their gazes to see a glimpse of a dark shadow disappear past the scaffolding above them. "Who was that?" Gustave questioned as he met Antoinette's eyes.

"Who?" She recalls how nervous she grew as she wrung her hands together. "Oh, poor Gustave. The blow to your head must be making you see thi-"

"I know what I saw – a glimpse of a dark shadow disappeared past the scaffolding above my head. That's where this staff came from." Gustave stooped low and picked up the broken prop. "You looked up, too, did you not? You saw the dark shadow, non? Please, Antoinette, be truthful with me. Do not take me for a fool."

"There's no one he-" A clatter interrupted her. The two looked down the dim corridor and saw the lower half of the shepherd's staff on the ground. Antoinette tried to reach the prop, but Gustave was quicker than her. He picked up the other end of the staff with his free hand and turned to her, bearing the two pieces.

"There's no one here, eh?" Gustave put the two pieces together, forming the whole shepherd's staff.

"Gus-"

"Antoinette, what are you hiding?" He took a step towards her and leaned forward. "Who are you hiding?" He asked quietly.

Antoinette knew that she could no longer keep his presence at the Opera Populaire a secret.

"You'd think me insane if I tell you who he is, Gustave. Please forget this happened. Just forget about him."

"No, Antoinette, I cannot "just forget" this person. If you would kindly ask him to come out."

"Even if I asked with a mother's tenderness, he would not come out."

"Why not?"

"Gustave, please –"

"I mean you no harm whoever you are!" Gustave turned his back to her and looked up towards the scaffolding. "You have nothing to fear!" Antoinette remembers the hand that grasped her shoulder. Frightened, she spun around to come face-to-face with Erik, a ratty old bag with two holes for his eyes covering his face. He said nothing and remained silent, but he gave Antoinette a single nod. She desperately wanted to push him into the shadows so as to shelter him from any hurt and shame, but she did not do so.

"Gustave." Antoinette called his attention.

"Please, Antoinette, I am trying to find him." She looked over her shoulder and saw him still staring up at the scaffolding.

"Gustave, turn around."

"Wh-" He stopped when he saw Erik standing by Antoinette. For what seemed a moment too long Gustave stood there with wide eyes, barely moving as he scrutinized Erik. "Wh-who are you?" Gustave asked slowly and softly as if not wanting to scare the boy. Erik did not respond, but he stood there with his gaze fixed on Gustave.

"This…" Antoinette looked to Erik for any sign that he wanted her to speak for him. He remained silent and kept his eyes on Gustave. "…is Erik. He…" She had received no form of protest from Erik this far. By his silence, she knew he wanted her to speak for him. She looked to Gustave. "…he lives here. This Opera is his home."

"Erik…" Gustave said to himself, testing the name on his tongue. "I have never seen you before."

"He does not want to be seen."

"Yet here he is." She had opened her mouth to speak by habit, but no words came out. Gustave was right. Erik did not want to be seen and yet he stood there before a complete stranger.

"You dropped this." Gustave took a step towards Erik, holding out the Shepherd's staff, but Erik took a step back as well, stepping closer to the shadows where he could easily slip away never to be seen again. "Oh, I'm sorry." Gustave quickly apologized as he pulled his foot back. "I did not mean to frighten you." Erik looked to Giry, the two dark holes where his eyes should've been wanting her to do something, but without being able to see his face, she assumed he wanted her approval of Gustave.

"You can trust him. He is a good man. He won't hurt you." She saw the strange look on Gustave's face as he looked at Erik. Erik hesitated a couple of seconds, but he took a tentative step forward. Then he froze and studied Gustave closely, watching his reaction. Gustave just stood there, keeping his gaze on Erik. When Erik deemed it safe, he took another step forward, this step steadier. He watched Gustave for another moment and then took another step forward, this one confident. With no break Erik took the next two steps and came to stand before Gustave with confidence.

"Is this yours?" Gustave asked softly, motioning to the staff in his hands. Erik shook his head which surprised Antoinette as she was about to speak for him.

"I…" Erik spoke, which froze Antoinette in shock. He spoke…she had never heard his voice before. At the time she found him, she wasn't even sure if that was his real name. His captor called him Erik, though, and when she helped him to safety and she asked him if Erik was indeed his name, he nodded. The only language he seemed to know was nodding and shaking the head, but no more, it seemed. "…I…no. That…is not mine." Gustave nodded calmly, unaware of this momentous event.

"Well, I'll just set this down here, then." Gustave said as he set the staff on the floor against the wall so that no one would trip on it. He quickly straightened his back and faced Erik, his curious side getting the better of him. "What were you doing up in the scaffolding?"

"That is none of your business! You should go now, Gustave! Forget about your questions for the poor boy and let hi-" Erik held his hand up which rendered her speechless. He lowered his hand and said "Why…should I not…fear you? Why should I…" He cleared his throat for what seemed to be the last time he would ever do so. "…believe that you mean me no harm?"

"I…you can trust me. I am not going to hurt you. Why were you up in the scaffolding?"

"I was seeing who the newcomer to my home was."

"Why…isn't this a home too many people? To Antoinette, the ballerinas, the maids and manservants, the –"

"This is my home. I am in charge of it."

"Then…how old are you? You don't seem old enough to be running a whole Opera House by yourself."

"The recent play," Antoinette chimes in. "the Black Trees…he composed it." Gustave looked at Erik with astonishment.

"That was one of the most beautiful compositions that I have ever seen. Have you written anything else?"

"Every play that has been performed in my Opera for the past year I have written. Almighty Augustus, the Heart of Rome, Ramada, and Tolling Bell." Antoinette remembers clearly the amazement that Gustave had for his talent and his accomplishments at such a young age.

"Such talent! Amazing! Astounding." Then Gustave asked the question that should never be asked. "Why do you have a bag covering your face?" Antoinette was so sure that Erik would have slipped into the shadows never to be seen again, but to her astonishment he responded.

"Those who have seen my face draw back in fear. If you saw it, you'd draw back in fear." Gustave saddened at the way he said this and he began to pity him.

"I…I'm sorry." Gustave lowered his head. Antoinette felt helpless as Erik lowered his head, too, and began to step back towards the shadows. He had never come forward with such trust toward anybody and now he was retreating!

"Gustave." She turned to him and pleaded "Please, help him. Tell him you won't draw back in fear. Tell him and don't draw back in fear."

"Erik, please, don't go." Gustave turned his attention immediately to Erik which caused him to stop suddenly, one foot enveloped in the shadows and the other just visible in the dim light. "I promise I am not like those who have seen you. I will not draw back in fear. I have no fear of you now and after I see you, if you will allow me, I will not fear you. Please, trust me." For a moment, which seemed the longest in Antoinette's life, Erik did not move. He looked behind him to the shadows and then to Gustave, then back to the shadows and to Gustave as if debating what he should do. Should he trust Gustave, a man he just met, and show him his face or should he return to the shadows and hide from the world? Once more Erik looked to Antoinette and she nodded for support.

With that nod, he looked to Gustave and came to him with slow strides.

"Are you ready?" Erik asked him.

"I am. Are you?"

"Yes." Antoinette drew in a sharp breath and held it as Erik grabbed the bag and pulled it off his head slowly. Inch by inch, she only seeing the good side of his face, the left side. Gustave's eyes widened when he saw Erik's face, but he did not draw back in fear as others who had seen him did. When she first saw his face, she drew back in fear, but she soon came to see the genius beneath the distorted figure. The inventor, the architect, the musician, the magician – all of that beneath his deformity. It seemed that the deformity disappeared, but in that moment the fear became real again as Gustave was put to the test.

Gustave remained silent, his eyes still wide as he took in Erik's deformity. "I have no fear." Antoinette released the breath she had been holding as relief flooded through her whole body. She couldn't help but smile as Erik took a deep breath and released it, his rigid stance becoming relaxed. "You do not have to hide. Allow me to show you the world outside thi- I mean your Opera. You do not have to mask your face the way you do. Let me help you."

Unexpectedly, Erik smiled and his eyes glistened from the tears that formed in them as he hugged Gustave tightly. "Thank you." He said with gratitude brimming over. "Thank you!"

Opening her eyes, Antoinette feels the slight tickle of Christine's curls against her wet cheek. The light about the room is dim, only one candle lit on the bedside table. Christine still weeps into the crook of her father's neck.

"Madame?" A light knock sounds. Antoinette lifts her tear-filled eyes to the coachman standing at the door of Gustave's bedroom. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but it is growing late and the men are here to prepare Monsieur Daae for burial." She nods, his figure blurry. "I shall, uh, be down at the carriage whenever you two are ready."

"Thank you." Antoinette manages to say past the lump in her throat. The coachman turns and leaves the two. Drawing in a shaky breath, she turns her attention to Christine. "I'm sorry, Christine, but…" She sniffles, her nose so stuffy that she can't breathe through it. "…we must go…to the Opera Populaire." Surprisingly, Christine does not put up a fight as she places a final kiss on her father's forehead.

"Bye…Papa. I love you." She starts sobbing, turning on her heels, wrapping her arms tightly about Antoinette's waist and crying against the corset of her black dress.

"Shhh, shh…" She whispers comfortingly. The two stand at the bedside of Gustave for a moment longer before Antoinette finally helps Christine to leave the room behind.

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**Author's note:** I hoped you enjoyed this! Let me know what you think in your review. I will update as soon as I can. I've already got a start on the second chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Here is the second chapter of my story! While this chapter is a bit lengthier than the first, there's a lot of stuff that happens. We get more of Christine as a little girl and her first meeting with her Angel of Music. I am going to try to make Erik seem more mysterious than the movie portrayed him. I've seen both the Broadway play and the Movie, and they both had their ups and downs. But I won't get into that. Anyways, I hope you like this chapter! Let me know what you think in your reviews! **

**Also, I just want to give a special thanks to Black Kitty Knight Club for putting me on their Favorites/Alerts list! **

**Ladies and Gentleman,**

**Please sit back,**

**relax,**

**and enjoy the read!**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_**January 24, 1858**_

The rain is coming down hard, pelting the roof of the carriage. As Antoinette holds Christine asleep in her arms she looks out the window, the middleclass houses they pass distorted by the raindrops sliding down the glass. The grey cobblestone road makes for a bumpy ride, bouncing her and Christine up and down. She looks to the sky. It's a mixture of greys, not a speck of blue. The clip-clop of the horse's hooves drawing the carriage are rhythmic and soothing, both suitable and contrasting for the grey hue of the world. While the sound comforts Antoinette, it also reminds her that once Gustave's heart beat like the horse's hooves. The raindrops remind her of the tears that she and Christine shed for his passing. He's in heaven. There's no doubt about that. Antoinette has never seen a human plagued with the flesh eating disease, leprosy, but she knows that just as he gave Erik hope, so he would've given a leper shunned by the world had he met one.

Antoinette remembers when Erik released Gustave. It was near midnight and the three of them knew that soon some of the stagehands would be coming around to make sure everyone who did not live at the Opera House was gone while they locked the exterior doors to ensure the safety of the property and everyone inside.

"I should be going." Gustave said. "I wish I could stay longer, but I promise, Erik, I will be back. I think I know how I can help you." With those promising words, Gustave bid the two farewell and left, leaving Antoinette and Erik.

"I have never heard you speak before." She said finally, breaking the silence. He did not look to her, but he pulled the bag over his head and adjusted it so that he could see through the two holes. "I hold no fear of your face, Erik." She couldn't help the hurt she felt that Erik trusted Gustave, a stranger whom he just met, enough to reveal his face to him, but still not show her his face when he knew he could trust her. He did not look at her as he turned to the shadows and began to walk towards them. "Erik, say something. Speak to me." He stopped in the dim light where the shadows started, his form barely visible.

"You are my dearest friend, Antoinette. You saved me, a condemned murderer, and brought me here to live. You protected me, kept my presence a secret from everyone for which I thank you…" He turned to her and stepped out of the shadows. "But on this night I have found my voice. I have found a light in the dark, hope in my despondency. Allow me to walk towards the light. Allow me to hope. You have done so much for me, much like a loving sister watches over her younger brother, and I intend to repay that. I promise that from this night forward every seat shall be filled, every wall shall be made beautiful, every candle shall be lit, every room in our home shall have a purpose and not be empty and every instrument shall be in perfect tune. This is how I shall repay you." Despite the bag that covered his face, she heard the sincerity in his voice. "But now I must go. The stagehands are near. Until tomorrow, dear sister." He slipped into the shadows and disappeared entirely from sight just as a stagehand came up to Antoinette's side.

"We're locking up right now, Madame Giry. You should return to your quarters." She did so. Within the year, his repayment had been fulfilled.

Every seat was indeed filled, even with a large waiting list of customers hoping for cancellations every play the Opera Populaire performed.

Every wall was indeed made beautiful through his ingenious architectural designs. She did not like the means in which Erik went about to force the manager, Lefevre, to accept his blueprints and hire only the finest sculptors, painters and other artists that Paris had to offer. At first, Erik gave her a note to pass onto the manager, the note detailing how he wanted _his_ Opera to be run. Lefevre was furious and thought that she was playing some sort of sick joke on him, but Erik proved his existence and his dominance to the manager in two ways – first, he spoke to Lefevre from somewhere within the walls when Antoinette handed him the note. Later on, the manager awoke to find the large painting that he had of his deceased wife had a knife stabbed into her chest and red paint splattered on the portrait. That very day the Lefevre saw that the Opera House went under renovation to match every detail of Erik's blueprints.

Every candle in _his_ Opera was lit more than once.

Every room in _his_ Opera had a purpose.

Every instrument that was played in _his_ Opera was in perfect tune.

By the end of the fifth year that he lived in the Opera, _his _Opera House was and still is the most successful in all of France. Antoinette also found that her role in his life had dramatically changed from protector to messenger. She spoke what he willed in his life, not what she willed anymore.

During the fifth year, Gustave and Erik met often with Antoinette at Erik's side serving no longer as support for him, but rather as an observer and friend. It was the middle of the fifth year that Gustave showed up with a package in his hand.

"I promised I would help." He said as he gave the package to Erik who still had the bag over his head. Despite his talents and accomplishments, he still would not show them his face. Erik was quick as he unwrapped the gift. Antoinette could not help but lean in close to see what was there. She saw a white mask and a black wig. She could not help but wonder how giving him a mask and a wig would help him. "Erik, please do not think that I am trying to have you hide your face. I hope that one day you will be strong enough to not wear it. But I hate to see the bag when I speak with you. I cannot see you smile. I cannot see you frown. I cannot see you laugh. All I see is a bag with two black holes on top of a growing man's shoulders. I hope that this mask will at least allow you to see, hear and breathe easier. I can only imagine how hard it is to breathe with that bag over your head. My hope for you is that one day, you will be strong enough to leave both the bag and the mask behind. But I understand that you need time to build that strength. So, you will transition from the bag to the mask, and then from the mask to your face."

Gustave took a small step forward and stretched his hands above Erik's head. "If I may?" For a moment, he did not move, but stared down at the mask. He then lifted his head to Gustave.

"You…may." Gustave was slow and gentle as he grasped the bag and pulled it off Erik's head. Once it was entirely off, Gustave tossed it behind him like one would a piece of clothing that had seen its last day.

"Are you alright with Antoinette helping me put on the wig and mask?" Gustave asked him. Erik cast a side glance at her, smiled softly and nodded. With this approval, Antoinette came to Gustave's left side, seeing the disfigured side of Erik's face for the first time since the night she rescued him. It sent a chill down her spine, but she fought the urge to shiver as she helped Gustave to smooth back his dark blonde hair, her hand brushing over the hideously deformed flesh of the right side of his face which reached up his scalp and down to his jaw. Once his hair was smoothed back, Gustave took the wig from Erik's hand and with her help fitted it onto his head. Antoinette could not help but stare in awe at how much the wig improved his appearance. The flesh on the right side of his face was still frightening, but having a full head of hair made him look more human. As soon as she thought this, she buried it deep, never willing to share to a single soul that she would assume him to be less human than anyone else.

"Wow. With the wig you would not even need the mask, but for your security I will put it on." Gustave always had some kind words to say. How a wicked thought like the one she just thought could ever cross his mind seemed unfathomable. Gustave then took the half mask that looked to be perfectly shaped for the right side of Erik's face. "Now, this mask is made of porcelain, so it is very fragile. Be careful with it. It should fit the contours of your face, so it will hopefully stay on. Are you ready?" Gustave also had a patience that Antoinette did not have.

"Yes." Erik answered, his expression unreadable. Slowly and with a kind smile Gustave put the mask onto Erik's face.

"There." Gustave said as he took a step back. "What do you think, Antoinette?" She stepped back as well and saw that his deformity was almost hidden, save for the red colored skin above his left eye and the absence of where some of his eyebrow hairs should be. Erik bowed his head and she knew that he was growing nervous under her scrutinizing gaze. She had to speak.

"I have never seen a more beautiful man." These words made Erik lift his gaze, hope in his eyes as he smiled.

"Thank you, Antoinette. Your words comfort me." Erik said.

"Thank you for trusting us, Erik." Gustave motioned to Antoinette and himself. "Do you promise me that you'll treat this mask only as a transition and not as a permanent refuge?"

"I promise." Erik stepped forward and embraced Gustave. "Thank you for all that you've done for me." He released Gustave and then offered his arms to Antoinette. She accepted them, hugging him tightly to herself. "Thank you for everything that you do, Antoinette." Over Erik's shoulder, Gustave smiled widely at her which she returned with overwhelming gratitude. She could not help but dream of the one day that Erik would leave the mask behind and face the world with no shame and no fear. She could only imagine the happiness that Gustave would have on that day.

There's a stirring in her arms which draws her back to the present. Looking down, she sees Christine lift her head for a moment. She sits up suddenly and looks out the window to her left, then her head snaps to the window on her right. "Papa…" Christine mutters, the tears starting to stream down her reddened cheeks.

Her whole world is shattered. Her Papa…gone. At this moment his body is being prepared for burial. Just last month he was in the pink of health. The night before he became bedridden with the mysterious illness that killed him, he was playing his violin, practicing the music for the next play, whatever it was, to be played at the Opera Populaire.

"Christine, won't you sing for me?" He asked her, stopping in the middle of his practicing.

"I don't want to, Papa." She was content to sit on his double bed and listen to him play. "I want to hear you play."

"But how is a song complete when there is no one to sing the words?"

"There are songs that have no voices, Papa. Besides, I do not wish to sing."

"But if you do not continue practicing, you will end up sounding like a rusty door hinge." She remembers the sadness in his eyes as he continued "Christine, I am not ill. Do not let your fear of losing me stop you from singing. Look how healthy I am!" He pointed at his cheek. "Look at the healthy tone of my skin! I have no sickly pallor. Please, Chris-"

"You nearly died. You expect me to sing like a happy little girl when I could lose you any day?"

"Christine, do not speak in such a way!" He reprimanded her and put her in her place. "I am healthy and I am not going anywhere for a long time! Now listen to your father and sing this song for me. I need your voice to help me practice."

"No!" She stormed out of his room and slammed the door shut behind her, the fear of losing him overpowering her passion for music. She wishes she had listened to him and sang for him while he was still healthy. It's too late now, though. His body is most likely ready to be laid in a coffin.

"Christine?" The voice draws her gaze to the woman sitting next to her. "Are you ready to head inside?" She looks out the window to see the towering grey stoned Opera House, the Opera Populaire, her new home.

"Am I to be a ballerina, now?" Christine asks.

"Not quite yet. Ballet is an art and like any art requires much practice. Someday you will be, though."

The rain continues to pour down, so Antoinette draws her black cloak over her head and Christine's as the coachman opens the door for the two. "Thank you." Antoinette hands him a small pouch of the appropriate coins which he takes. "Come on, Christine." Christine barely has the time to brace herself for the cold water that splashes up her legs and soaks her stockings as she and Antoinette hop out of the carriage and race up the steps to the front doors of the Opera House all the while trying to stay beneath the shelter of Antoinette's cloak.

Once beneath the massive grey stone pillars supporting the roof outside the Opera House, Antoinette lowers her cloak drenched with filthy city rainwater. She wrings the cloak as best she can. "Open the door, Christine." Christine reaches up and grasps the large metal hooped door handle to the right door of the large double wooden doors and pulls back with all her strength. A strand of yellow light falls onto Antoinette's dark dress from inside, the strand growing sideways with each step Christine takes back. "Thank you, child." Antoinette tosses her heavy cloak over her arm and grabs the door. "You can let go, Christine. Go in." Christine obeys, releases the door handle, steps around Antoinette and inside the Opera House.

She finds herself stopping in awe as she enters a grand foyer. Across the empty space of the beautiful white marble floor is a large stairway that starts in two and joins at the center midway up. Large bronze busts of angels border the ceiling, hiding where the cream walls and the blue fresco meet. Looking up at the fresco, it depicts a large gathering of men in flowing garments of red, green, silver and gold looking up at what seems to be a balcony another level to the Opera House, young boys dressed in less extravagant robes siting over the edge of the balcony, some relaxing and some looking as if there about to jump off. She knows it's a painting and that the boys are not going to jump down onto her…but it looks so real. Christine looks to her right to see a tall archway, about two stories tall, leading to whatever lies behind the large double wooden doors. She looks to her left to see its twin, but its doors are wide open, leading to red carpeted stairs and a wooden railing. In the large room she spots a large crystalline chandelier, the main light source, giving light to the golden and red room.

"That doorway is just one of the entrances to the Theater. That is the one you should be using, as it is the most direct route to backstage and to the chorus girls' quarters. That is where you will be staying."

"For how long?" Christine looks up at her, already knowing the answer.

"This is to be your home now…perhaps one day, if and when you marry, you'll leave the Opera House to live with your husband, but for now this is your home. Come, it is nearly time for bed and one girl is anxious for your arrival." Anxious? Is that good or bad? Christine follows Antoinette regardless, her stomach knotting over of meeting the girls and young women who she will be living with for presumably the rest of her life, her heart still grieving for her father, and her mind still struggling to accept the fact that he is gone. Before she can fully understand what's happening, she is shown a metal frame bed beneath a circular stained-glass window of an Angel dressed in a long blue robe and about to spread his wings. "This is your bed. I had the maids clean the sheets so that you'd have a clean bed to sleep in tonight…" Antoinette trails off as a tap on Christine's shoulder startles her. She spins on her heels to face a smaller girl with flowing blonde hair, a round face and blue eyes.

"Hello. Are you the new girl?" The girl asks, her voice soft and gentle.

"Christine, this is my daughter, Meg. She is only a year younger than you. Meg, this is Christine Daae."

"Hi!" Meg greets again with wide smile. "It's nice to have someone who's close to my age. Everyone else here is so much older than me." A small giggle draws the three gazes to the sea of sleeping figures, two of them restless beneath their covers.

"Anne! Miriam!" Antoinette's demanding voice sends a shiver down Christine's spine. "I know that is you! To bed, now!" The two girls who she had called out fall quiet and they stop moving beneath the covers. She shakes her head and looks down at Christine and Meg. "I expect you two to behave better than Anne and Miriam. Learn from their mistakes. Now, go to sleep Meg."

"Good night, mom. I love you."

"I love you, too." Christine watches as Antoinette tucks her daughter into bed. Just a month ago, her father tucked her into bed for the last time. If only she knew that it would have been the last time she'd ever feel his kiss on her forehead. She would have savored the moment instead of treating it as a routine.

Antoinette turns to Christine and her eyes widen. "My dear, look how soaked you are! I'm sorry I didn't see this before. Come, let's wash you up and get you into clean, dry clothes." She leads Christine to the washing room in the back of the quarters fills the tub with water. As she washes the filth of the city off her skin and hair, Antoinette brings Christine her fresh clean yellow nightgown and a towel. "I'll be in my room over there." She points to the door opposite of the one they came in. "When you're done, come and get me."

"Yes, Madame Giry." She leaves Christine to finish as she enters her room and closes the door. Christine finishes quickly, dries with the towel and dresses in her nightgown, the soft cotton of the material familiar and strangely comforting to the touch. She often wore this to bed when her father would tuck her in. Meg was tucked into bed. That girl doesn't realize how fortunate she is to have someone to do so every night. She should cherish every moment of being tucked into bed by her mother. Putting this thought away as best she can, Christine approaches Madame Giry's door and opens it.

"Madame Giry?" She sees Madame Giry sitting before a mirror above a desk, brushing her long blonde tresses, very similar to her daughter's hair color. Many people said that Christine and her father had the same hair color.

"Yes dear?" She looks at Christine in the mirror.

"I'm done with my bath."

"Are you?" She asks incredulously as she rises from the chair and approaches Christine.

"Yes, I am." Madame Giry lowers her nose to Christine's hair and sniffs.

"I suppose that's good enough." She straightens, looks down at Christine with a soft smile and taps her gently on the shoulder. "Time for bed, now."

As Antoinette turns Christine around, Christine asks "Will you tuck me in, Madame Giry?" A pang of grief pierces Antoinette's heart. Surely Gustave tucked Christine in every night before he fell ill. And she knows that Gustave left his daughter in her care because he trusted her to be as a mother to Christine.

"Of course, child. Come." Antoinette takes her new daughter's hand and leads her through the washroom, and into the chorus girls' quarters to stand before her bed. Releasing her hand, Antoinette pulls back the covers. "Get in." Christine climbs into bed and lies down on her back, looking up at her with glistening eyes. "Don't worry, Christine." Antoinette pulls the covers over her small body. "You're not alone." She gingerly tucks the covers beneath her chin and brushes her stray hair from her face, still damp to touch. "You're Papa…he may be gone to the human eye…" The tears start to slide down the sides of Christine's face. "…but he's still alive."

"I…don't understand." Christine chokes out past the lump in her throat. Antoinette cups her small face with her hands, wiping the tears away with her thumbs. "He's in heaven, child, watching over you. He is with you."

"With me?"

"He's with you in here." Antoinette places a gentle hand over Christine's heart. "He's a part of you. He lives on in you. You may not see him or hear him, but he's with you just as much as he was when he would play the violin and you'd sing with him, just as much as when he'd tuck you into bed." She returns her hand to Christine's face and brushes her tears away. "Don't forget that…daughter." Daughter? Christine can't help the smile that spreads her lips. Even though Papa's gone, she still has someone to call Maman (mama, mommy), even if Madame Giry is not in her blood.

"I won't…Maman."

"Good." She leans forward and kisses her forehead. Removing her hands from Christine, she smiles down at her once more. "Good night, Christine. I love you."

"And I you." Madame Giry heads to her own quarters, leaving Christine to stare at the Angel in the stained glass window. Papa…God, why did she not sing for him? Why did she storm out of his room that last day of his health? Guilty, Christine suddenly feels alone despite the dozen or so sleeping bodies around her. Surely her sin is one of the worst ever committed.

Christine sits up in bed. She must right her wrong. Even though Papa cannot be seen and heard by the human eye and ear anymore, if he is as alive as Maman said, then surely he will hear her. She'll sing for him.

She opens her mouth, but stops as she realizes she shouldn't wake the others. Not only would Madame Giry…or Maman be upset with her, the other girls that she'll be spending every day with wouldn't like her. She better find a more secluded area to sing. Tossing the covers aside, Christine stops in guilt. Madame Giry went out of her way to tuck her into bed. But she has to do this. She has to sing for her Papa.

Pushing herself off the mattress, she lands on her feet with a thud. She freezes and looks at the sleeping girls about her. Not a single body stirs. She takes a step forward, testing the floorboards beneath her. Quiet. She takes another tentative step forward. The floorboard creaks beneath her, almost sounding as though she stepped on a rat. She shivers at the thought of a squashed rat in between her toes. She takes another step and another, the rest of the path easy as she successfully grasps the cold knob of the door leading out to the backstage corridors.

Twisting the knob slowly and opening the door, the hinges creak slightly. Stopping, she glances behind her. Nobody moves and all is silent. Just a bit more and she'll be able to slip out. Opening the door a bit more to the dark corridor outside, she slips past the door and shuts it softly behind her. She stands still for a moment, listening for any sound that might be Madame Giry or anybody else coming to investigate the empty bed. It's all silent.

Christine turns around and looks to her right, a long hallway with wooden doors every twenty yards or so. She looks to her left – a dead end. Her best bet would be to head right. She turns right and continues slowly along, finding more comfort the closer she is to the wall on her left. Pressing her shoulder against the wall, she walks along it, trusting it to support her weight. She places one foot in front of the other, paying more attention to her ears than her eyes. On the walk here she did not spot any object that could cause one to trip if walking around at night, but at the end of this hall there is a set of stairs, one flight leading to the theater, but the next flight down leading to where she does not know. Perhaps it would be best to head down that way. What could possibly be down there other than storage?

A glow! In the distance! Candlelight! Christine falls back against the wall, expecting the light to come towards her. It does not grow larger, however, but smaller. She listens hard, but there are no voices, no footsteps. Just silence. Who could that candlelight possibly belong to at this time of night? One side of her tells her to turn and head back, to go to sleep and forget about the candlelight…but another side of her urges her to move towards it, to satiate the curiosity gnawing at her from within. She imagines herself as a moth drawn to flame as she heads down the hall towards the light. She soon forgets the safety of the wall on her left and wanders to the middle.

A voice rises up from the darkness, soft and wordless, but the notes in the tune are clear enough to hear. As she draws closer to the light, the voice grows and she can just hear the words:

"_At night I wander,_

_Safe in Darkness, _

_No one to see me. _

_Alone, forgotten, _

_Cursed and fallen, _

_No one to hear me._

_Why in this world, _

_So cold, so callous_

_No one to love me?"_

The voice, so beautiful, yet so sad, stops. Christine halts and stares down the hall, the light still shining bright. The light flickers and starts to grow smaller! A part of her tells her to turn back now and run for her room, but the other part of her spurs her onward to chase the fading light. Running down the hall, the light continues to disappear. It seems that the light is suddenly engulfed by a gaping black hole, which she realizes the light is hurrying down the stairs! Just as she reaches the stairs, the light is already far down. Luckily she can see the steps just enough to run down them. Flight after flight, she chases after this light. She almost calls out for the light to stop, but she remembers that she does not want anyone to come and find her. Not yet, anyways.

Finally, the stairs end as she steps onto a cold stone floor. The light has stopped moving, sitting at the end of another hall. Without thinking, she runs to the light. This time, the light grows bigger and bigger, almost as if it's running towards her. Just when she's about to collide with the light, she skids to a stop and stares at the light. As her eyes adjust, she sees that the bright yellow glow is actually a small flame atop a creamy wax candle. The candle rests in a silver candle holder on the ground. A strange place to leave an open flame and probably dangerous, too. She picks up the candle holder by the handle and straightens her back, using the light to see ahead of her. There is a wooden door in front of her.

What lies behind the door? Once again, one part of her tells her to turn back and to never open strange doors, but the other part of her wins, she reaching out, grasping the cold knob and twisting it with ease. She pushes the door open slowly and peers inside, the room well-lit with a host of candles. Against the front wall of the small gray stone room is a large stain glass window with an Angel about to spread his wings depicted in it. Hanging before the stain glass window is a wooden cross with the image of Christ nailed to it. Before the cross are two black metal racks with many cream-colored candlesticks arranged in ascending rows, most lit, but some unlit. This must be a small chapel of sorts…perhaps her father led her here, knowing that she wanted to sing for him in seclusion. But then could a spirit lift a candle by itself…and that voice was not her father. The voice was deeper.

No, she has come here for one purpose. She must sing for her father and right her wrong. Putting the conflicting thoughts out of her mind, she enters the chapel and shuts the door behind her. She approaches the candles on the rack to her right and finds a long wooden stick resting in a small metal pocket at the side of the rack. Pulling it out she borrows the flame from a nearby candle, lights an unlit one for her father, blows out the flame on the stick and places it in the dark gravel dirt resting in the opposite metal pocket. She sets the candle down on the floor and kneels beside it.

She presses her palms together and bows her head in reverence like her father taught her.

"Oh God, I know that my Papa is in Heaven with You. Hear my prayer and let my Papa know that this song that I sing is to apologize for the day I refused to sing for him…the last day before he fell ill.

"_See all the colors in the sky,_

_See how far the ocean stretches._

_The setting sun, yellow-glory._

_How beautiful, how beautiful._

_Feel the cool breeze dance with your hair, _

_Feel the warm sand and cool water._

_The setting sun, yellow-glory._

_How beautiful, how beautiful. _

_Off in the distance, there lies hope,_

_A new bright hope, one that will last._

_The setting sun, yellow-glory._

_How beautiful, how beautiful. _

_I long to be with you, my love._

_O-oh, how I miss you, my love._

_Think of the words that I sing now,_

_The setting sun, yellow-glory._

_How beautiful, how beautiful. _

_The setting sun, yellow-glory._

_How beautiful, how beautiful. _

_The setting sun…yellow-glor-ory._

_How beautiful, how beau-eauti-i-ful."_

She finishes the tune, though her voice sounded like a rusty door hinge, she finds a peace in herself. She righted her wrong and she knows her Papa heard her sing. "Thank you, Lord, for hearing…" Her eyes and nostrils burn sharply as her vision blurs. "Papa!" She cries out, unable to hold in the grief anymore. She falls prostrate, her left cheek resting on the cold stone floor.

"_Little child, do not weep, now._

_I am here, I hear you."_ The voice, the same one she heard in the hall! She sits up straight, trying to find where the voice came from.

"_Do not fear me, I mean no harm._

_I am heard, yet unseen._

_Sing once more, little child._

_Shed your tears and be free."_ This voice, so beautiful, so entrancing, her tears stop and peace fills her. She remembers the final promise Papa made her – when he's in heaven, he'd send her the Angel of Music…

"_Could it be you he promised?_

_My dear Papa, now passed on._

_You? The Angel of Music?"_ She stops and listens carefully, trying to see where the cherubic voice is coming from.

"_Little daughter, broken, frightened,_

_Have no fear of me._

_Little daughter, seeking, wanting,_

_Have faith in me, trust me. _

_I am the Angel of Music."_ She cannot find the voice. It seems to surround her and embrace her. She can't help but close her eyes, his voice her only world.

"_I have one question for you,_

_Answer me honestly. _

_I am here, I hear you._

_Your song, your voice,_

_So good, so pure,_

_But in need of guidance._

_I can make your song take flight._

_I can be your teacher, your tutor,_

_Make your song take flight._

_Do you want or do you not want?_

_Answer me honestly, little daughter._

_I am here, I hear you."_ She opens her eyes to see the flame of the candle she lit for her father dancing softly.

"_Angel of Music, _

_Guide and Guardian,_

_I'd be a fool to refuse._

_Angel of Music,_

_Be my teacher, _

_You can make my song take flight._

_I do want, I do want, I do –"_

"_Little daughter, you've decided._

_I am your Angel of Music. _

_I will make your song take flight."_

"_Make my song take flight." _

"_Make your song take flight."_

"_Make my song take flight." _

"_Make your song take flight."_

**Author's note: This is the end of the second chapter! I'll get the third out as soon as I can! Thanks again and let me know what you think your reviews. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: So here's the 3rd chapter. Not quite sure what to say. If you like this, please let me know what you think in your reviews. Is this different than what you have read in most Phanfics? I am really enjoying writing this because I play the piano and I love music, so it's fun to sit down and write lyrics. I hope you enjoy this story as much as me. And I'm sorry if the pacing of this story seems to be moving slowly. I promise it will get better. I tried to create some tension with Joseph Buquet, so yeah. I guess that's it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera and the two last songs in this chapter I do not own. My heart will go on is by Celine Dion and All New Things is a Church song out of the Gather Comprehensive book...I am not sure who it is by as all the songs in the book are by a bunch of different people. But the rest of the stuff I own.**

**Ladies and Gentlemen,**

**sit back, **

**relax,**

**and enjoy the read!**

* * *

Chapter 3

_**December 17, 1858**_

She misses Papa, but she knows she's not alone. With Madame Giry and Meg, Christine has people to call family. Two other young girls, Aveline, a nine year old, and Corrine, Christine's age, both joined the ballet corps last May. Christine and Meg quickly befriended the two, the four of them forming a group almost separate from the older girls.

Christine is becoming accustomed to addressing Madame Giry as Maman expect when the situation requires her to address her formally, such as when they're practicing and Manager Lefevre walks in to speak with Madame Giry. In thought now, Madame Giry is her Maman.

Christine grasps the rail behind her, Meg on her right and Aveline on her left.

"And lift!" Maman instructs. Every girl lifts their right leg up as far as they can. "Keep your toes pointed!" Christine points her toes. As Maman continues to teach them the dance, Christine's mind wanders to her Angel.

Every night in the chapel at 9 o'clock sharp, he's there. His voice comes from all over and he usually greets her by saying "It is good to see you, Christine. How goes your ballet, little daughter?" Christine will tell him all that she experienced that day and give him her earnest opinion of everything, particularly how she often wishes Maman didn't push them so hard in practice. Often times, he offers her sweet words of encouragement, but there are times when he laughs and says something like "Ah, yes. That's the way Madame Giry is. She pushes everyone to accomplish their full potential." After this, he changes the focus to her vocal lessons. With each passing day, she notices improvement with projecting her voice.

"You do not want to be screaming." He sometimes says. "You only want to project." He once used the example of her standing on the stage of the theater and she's trying to call a friend of hers all the way on the other side. She would not yell, but she would send out her voice more. It sounded easy to do as projecting one's voice while speaking is in human nature, but projecting the voice while singing is something that must be taught.

After her hour long lessons, he always says "Remember Christine, get at least eight hours of sleep every night. Don't drink milk and don't eat an hour before singing. The emptier your stomach is, the more air you can take in. Refresh your voice with water every time it weakens. Do not forget to do your breathing exercises in the morning. 15 minutes at least. And if you start to feel –"

"– dizzy, then stop and sit down. You don't want to pass out." She sometimes finishes with impatience. "You are like a doting father, my Angel."

At these times he chuckles and says "I just don't want you to forget. It is a lot to remember. Forgive me for repeating myself."

"There's nothing to forgive." Afterwards he bids her goodnight and promises that he'll be back tomorrow at the same time. Tonight will be like every other night. At 8:50, she will slip out of the dormitories to head down to the chapel, most everyone believing that she is going to do her hour-long prayers. Most of the girls could care less of what Christine does. "It's on her if Madame Giry catches her." They say to one another before resuming to their before-bedtime-chats. Aveline and Corrine believe Christine. It's only Meg who has trouble believing her. Whenever she gets the chance, Meg asks "What are you hiding, Christine?" Luckily, Maman knows that Christine is taking voice lessons from her Angel.

One night in late March, Maman caught Christine leaving the dormitories. She thought for sure that Maman would be angry and punish her with scrubbing the tubs in the washroom, but Maman surprised her when she said "Go, take your voice lessons, Christine. Just be sure you're back by 10:10 and no later."

As far as Christine's concerned, with Maman's support and the other girls' ignorance, her secret is safe, even from Meg.

"Christine, jump!" Coming back to reality, she sees two sticks on the ground about three feet apart. The girls lined up behind her chuckle, causing her face to heat up with embarrassment. The thud of Maman's staff silences everyone.

"Ignore them, Christine." Aveline encourages.

"Go and make the jump." Corrine nudges Christine forward. Meg was ahead of her, but she's not anymore. She must've jumped and be at the back of the line. Christine runs forward stiffly and just before she reaches the sticks she leaps over the width and lands safely on the other side.

"That wasn't graceful, Christine. You need to run and jump without hesitation. It needs to be one fluid motion. Go to the back and wait your turn." She has to go through this two more times. If she fails to pass the next two jumps, then she has to go through the five days of stretching all over again. Her muscles are still aching and she doesn't want to have to stretch them more. Christine runs quickly to the back of the line to stand behind Meg. Meg notices her presence and turns to her.

"Maman makes me so angry!" Meg whispers harshly into Christine's ear.

"Why?"

"Were you not looking? I jumped and landed on the other side, but the back of my foot "nudged the stick", or so Maman says. Why can't she understand that I have Papa's short, stubby legs? That's why I can't ever be a good ballerina."

"Oh, don't say that! Your legs maybe be shorter than most, but that doesn't mean you can't make the jump. I wasn't "fluid" enough." Christine tries to console Meg, but she doesn't seem to hear it.

"I'll never be a good ballerina."

"Meg." Another voice says above them. Christine and Meg look up to see Anne, a 17 year old girl, looking down at her. Anne kneels down to Meg's height and says "Allow me to give you some advice. There are going to be plenty of people in life who will tell you that you can't be a good ballerina, or that you can't sing, or that you're too small to accomplish something big. You'll encounter them, so don't cut yourself down, too. You know, I thought I had short legs and that I wouldn't make a good ballerina, but listen to your friend. You can make the jump. You just need to believe that you can."

Both girls can't help but stare in awe as Anne smiles, pats Meg gently on the head and turns around to perform her jump over another set of sticks set further apart for the older girls. Anne runs forward gracefully, leaps over the stick without hesitation and lands on the other side weightlessly, but steadily.

"A little loose in your footing, but passable. Next!"

"I thought it was perfect." Christine mutters to Meg. "Jump like her."

"I can't, Christine." Meg says as she stands on her tiptoes.

"Yes, you can! Believe you can and you will."

"Chris-"

"Jump, Meg."

"Believe, Meg." Meg takes off much like Anne, each stride long and graceful, each step secure. As she comes up to the stick, she leaps over and stretches her legs perfectly. She lands on the other side like a nimble cat, a couple of inches safe from the stick.

Meg stops and turns to face Maman who stands silent with a heavy gaze, Christine feeling as though Meg's awaiting her punishment from the judge for a grievous crime that she committed. Out of nowhere a wide smile spreads on Maman's face. Christine and Meg share a quick look which says it all. Maman's finally lost her mind.

"Wonderful!" Maman says, putting her staff beneath her arm and clapping. "Bien, Meg! Très Bien!" Meg is frozen in place, her blue eyes wide.

"R-really?" Meg stutters. Christine can only stare in awe as Meg asks "Nothing wasn't good enough? I-it was all good?"

"No, Meg. It was perfect! The run and the jump were one fluid motion. You landed on the other side lightly, but firmly. Your footing was perfect! It couldn't have been better!" Meg can't help the squeal of excitement that slips out of her mouth as she curtsies.

Christine smiles with joy. Never had she heard Maman compliment somebody like that, especially her own daughter. It seems that just because Meg is her flesh and blood, she is always the most critical of her. As Meg runs off to the back of the line, Christine feels a strange…weight bearing down on her. She looks to the scaffolding above them to see a dark shadow shaped like a man standing there. A chill runs down her spine and her arm hair raises in response to the cold air that's suddenly about her.

"Christine," Maman calls her attention once more. Reluctantly, she tears her gaze from the shadow and looks to Maman. "please pay attention, dear. Just two more jumps and if you do at least one of them well, then you get to have free time."

"Madame Giry!" A deep voice calls out urgently. Everyone turns to see Joseph Buquet, the master stagehand, a large burly man with short red hair and a thick beard step into the room used for learning ballet. He's notorious for being hotheaded, but never has she seen him this angry before.

"Monsieur Buquet, have you no manners?!" Maman reprimands as she places herself between Buquet and the girls. He steps right up to her and produces a metal flask out of his shirt.

"See this?" He holds it up in her face.

"The container that holds your demon drink? How can I not when you're waving it in my face?!" She rips the flask from his grasp.

"Open it up and smell it." He demands.

"Non, I will not, Monsieur. Now, remove yourself from here before I throw you out."

"The whiskey that was in my flask has been emptied and filled with horse manure! I went to drink from it and the damn manure went into my mouth!"

"Eww!" Many of the girls cringe, Christine feeling her breakfast come up her throat. Maman's eyes snap to the flask and she angrily stuffs it back in his shirt.

"Leave now and take your foul mouth with you!" She screams in his face, pointing to the door leading out of the room.

"It's him who did it, isn't it? The ghost?! The Phantom of the Opera?!" Joseph turns around and looks up to the scaffolding and shakes his fist, shouting "Come out, you coward! Come out, ghost! I know you're real!" Christine looks to the spot where she spotted the shadow. It's gone.

"Mon-"

"You're hiding him, aren't you?!" Buquet whips around to face Maman.

"I am hiding no one."

"Yes, you are. I've seen you talking to the shadows. Then a man's voice responds to you." Maman tilts her head and smirks.

"_Listen up, my dearest girls._

_A wise lesson to you all," _She turns to the girls and points to Joseph.

"_A man who drinks _

_Will hallucinate._

_Don't believe a word he says._

_He fears losing his own job._

_Why does he drink while working?_

_Why does he not keep to his post?_

_A man who drinks_

_Will hallucinate." _She turns back to Joseph Buquet, the notes of her song harsh.

"_Joseph Buquet, hold your tongue._

_Two choices you have, Monsieur:_

_The first choice leads to success._

_Stop consuming your liquor_

_And work harder than before._

_The second choice leads to your doom._

_I beg you do not choose it._

_Keep consuming your liquor_

_And do not keep to your post._

_By choosing this,_

_You stare death in the face!" _She nearly spits in his face with the frightening words. Christine can't help but shiver.

"_A man who drinks_

_Will hallucinate._

_Be gone now, Joseph Buquet._

_Remember, do not forget…_

_To keep your hand at the level of your eyes!"_ She lifts her hand to his eyes, not touching him, but he jumps back, frightened at her warning.

"_Always tell yourself these words,_

_When you think that you see him,_

_The Phantom of the Opera:_

_A man who drinks_

_Will hallucinate." _The Phantom of the Opera…Christine looks up to the scaffolding where she saw the shadow. Could the shadow have been him? The dreaded Phantom?

"She knows!" Joseph's accusation makes Christine look to see who he accuses. He points right at her. "You've seen him, haven't you, little girl?" He goes to step past Maman, but she steps into his path.

"She knows nothing, Monsieur. Christine," She turns to her. "do you believe in the Phantom of the Opera?"

"Non, Madame Giry." Christine shakes her head, though she starts to wonder if he really does exist. With a smug grin Maman turns back to Joseph.

"You see, Monsieur Buquet? A little eight year old girl has more sense than you."

"You coached her to say that." Maman hesitates for the slightest second, which makes him grin widely.

"Then ask anyone of these girls. They'll tell you the same. Girls!" Maman turns to the older girls. "Do you believe in this ludicrous?" To Christine's disappointment and slight fear, the girls hesitate, muttering amongst themselves.

"We…" Miriam steps forward and motions to the girls behind her. "…well, we would be fools to dismiss anything that falls outside our realm of possibility, Madame Giry." Miriam answers on behalf of them. Christine watches Maman's face fall in disappointment.

"What a shame. I thought I was teaching girls that had better heads on their shoulders." Shaking her head, she turns back to Monsieur Buquet whose grin has not faded.

"I'll let you go this time, but I'd recommend being more discrete when you speak with the Phantom, Madame Giry." He turns and starts to head for the door.

"There is no Phantom of the Opera!" Maman yells at him. He stops and turns to her.

"Did you not say that I stare death in the face should I choose the second choice? Who would kill me? Manager Lefevre? Ha! Sure, he'd fire me, but he wouldn't kill me. Now, the Phantom, that's a different story."

"Mon-"

"Good day, Madame Giry! Goodbye, dear girls!" Joseph does not give Maman the chance to speak anymore as he runs out of the room and shuts the door behind him. Silence falls across the room. Tense…very tense. Christine barely breathes, not wanting to be the one to break the eerie silence. Everyone looks to one another, avoiding Maman's piercing eyes. It seems that to look at her would be to stare death in the face.

"Enough standing around." Maman finally speaks, shattering the tension and freeing everyone to breathe easier. Aveline and Corrine huddle closer to Christine, Christine also stepping nearer to them for security. "We don't have the time to ponder whether some ghost lives here or not. Le Filou (The Trickster) will be performed after the New Year and I want our dance for Act II to be perfect. I want those who will be performing the dance to head out to the stage. Aveline, Corrine, Meg and Christine, you are dismissed. Go back to the dormitories. Dinner will be ready at 6."

"Yes, Madame Giry." Aveline nods on behalf of them and the four head out of the room with the other girls, the older girls turning right to head to the stage and the four turning left. As the four walk back to the dormitories, they huddle close together, keeping a lookout for the dreaded Phantom.

"Do you think that Monsieur Buquet is right?" Corrine asks. "Do you think he exists?"

"I don't know…" Aveline trails off. "...wasn't it strange how Madame Giry was so…certain that he didn't exist? I'd say that she was against his existence so much…that maybe she actually works for him."

"Don't talk about Maman that way!" Meg says sharply. "Maman just has a right head on her shoulders and she's trying to teach us some common sense."

"How do you know that, though?" Aveline challenges as she stops suddenly, forcing the other three to halt. She turns to Meg. "How do you know that your Maman isn't hiding something from you…or someone?"

"Because she's my Maman and she'd never lie to me!"

"Really?" Aveline smirks as she crosses her arms. "She'd never lie to you?"

"Yes!" Meg answers defiantly.

"Um…" Corrine interjects softly. "…shouldn't we be heading back to the dormitories?"

"Not yet." Aveline says. "I know that the Phantom of the Opera exists and we're not leaving until all three of you agree with me."

"Goodness, does it really matter?" Christine asks impatiently.

"Yes, it does." Aveline says. "Do you believe that the Phantom exists, Christine?"

"I…". She opens her mouth to tell of the strange shadow that she saw up in the scaffolding, but she decides against it…she feels that if she tells, then she'd be betraying Maman. "…no, I don't believe that he exists. I believe Maman and Meg." Christine takes Meg's left side, linking her arm with Meg's to show a unified opinion.

"What about you, Corrine? Do you believe that he exists?" Corrine shrugs her shoulders and takes a step back.

"I don't know. He could…and he couldn't. I really don't…care anymore. Can we just go back to our dorm so that Madame Giry doesn't find us here and punish us? Please? I don't want to do extra stretching!"

"Neither do I." Christine says.

Meg says "Those who don't want to do extra stretching will come back to the dormitories with me. Those that do will stay here and listen to Aveline." Without a further word, Meg pulls Christine past Aveline and the two start to head for the dormitories.

"Wait for me!" Corrine shouts, following quickly behind them. Christine looks back to see Aveline standing in the hall with her back to them, her arms crossed. "Gosh, have you ever met somebody as stubborn as her?" Corrine asks.

"She'll come, watch." Christine says.

Sure enough, Aveline turns sharply and runs towards them, shouting "Wait for me!" As Aveline reaches the three, Meg and Corrine can't help but say "Chicken."

"I am not a chicken!"

"You know," Meg says "on your wedding day when you're walking down the aisle in your pretty white gown, Christine will sing _Bak bak bak bak! Bak bak bak bak! Bak bak bak bak bak bak bak bak bak bak bak bak!_"

"I will not!" Christine refuses.

"Thank you, Christine!"

"Chicken!" Corrine calls out again, pointing to Aveline. Seeing Aveline fluster over such a petty insult makes Christine laugh despite how hard she tries to suppress it. Aveline laughs mockingly in return, but only earns the hard laughter of Meg, Christine and Corrine.

Dinner passes quickly. Christine is lying in bed. It just hits her.

"Good night, Joanne."

"Night, Miriam."

"Good night, Anne." Everyone bids each other a good night and sweet dreams.

"Good night, Meg." Christine says, looking to Meg's bed horizontal to the head of hers.

"Good night, Christine."

"Good night, Corrine."

"Night. Good night, Aveline…" Meg and Corrine tease as they lean close to her bed on Christine's right. "…don't worry. The Phantom of the Opera won't take you…or will he?"

"Shut up!" Aveline snaps back, only earning the two girls snickering.

"Stop it, guys. Seriously." Christine says.

"Oh, don't think you're so innocent!" Aveline points her finger at Christine. "You were laughing at me when the two called me a chicken!"

"I hate finger-pointing." Christine says between clenched teeth, gripping Aveline's wrist tightly and roughly shoving it away.

"Ow!"

"Go to bed!" One of the older girls hisses. Probably Joanne. The voice snaps all four girls into silence as the fall of Maman's footsteps come from the washroom. The door creaks open.

"It's bedtime. If I hear anymore talking, then you'll all have to wash your own bed sheets for a week!" The door shuts again. Maman is not in a good mood. Monsieur Buquet has set her off with his bold accusations.

As the girls about her fall asleep, Christine can't get her mind off of the shadow up in the scaffolding. Who was it? Could it have been the Phantom of the Opera? Could the Phantom have emptied Monsieur Buquet's flask of its liquor and replaced it with horse manure? Christine can't help but snort as she suppresses her laughter. He ate horse manure! He ate horse manure! It's so gross, but it's so funny, too. Perhaps her Angel would be able to tell her about whether the Phantom is real or not…her Angel of Music. Christine feels as though she needs to be somewhere, but whe…oh, her voice lessons in the chapel!

She sits up quickly, hops out of bed and follows her usual foot pattern to avoid the squeaky floorboards. Opening the door, she slips out into the dark hall and shuts it softly behind her. She looks down at her right foot by habit. Resting there is an unlit candle in a bronze candleholder with a match resting on its base. Her Angel always places it here after everyone has gone to sleep so that she has light to go down to the chapel. Kneeling down, she takes the match and strikes it against the wood of the wall, its yellow light bursting out of the darkness. Her eyes quickly adjust and she lights the wick of the candle, the wick catching fire and burning bright enough to see. She blows out the match, sets it back in the bowl-shaped base of the candleholder, grasps the handle and rises with it. She begins the ten minute walk to the chapel, keeping an eye out for anyone who maybe up and about at this time of night.

She hurries along as quickly as she can. How late is she? How could he have completely slipped her mind?! What if he's not there? What if…what if…no, she dare not think it…what if he never came back?!

"Little girl!" Christine nearly jumps out of her skin at the deep, husky voice behind her. She spins on her heels to come face to face with Joseph Buquet. "Where you off too in such a hurry?" He questions, she shaking with fear beneath his scrutinizing gaze. He smiles widely at this. "It wouldn't be off to talk with the Phantom of the Opera, now would it be?"

"H-he does not exist, Mon-Monsieur." She stutters, still shaking with fear. Monsieur Buquet smirks.

"Shouldn't you be in bed? What are you doing up?"

"I-I am just going to…pray, Monsieur…"

"Where?"

"I-in the chapel." Why can't she stop shaking?!

"Praying at your bedside is not good enough?"

"I-I light a candle…for my Pa…every night."

"Every night, eh?" His head bobs up and down as he takes in the information.

"Yes, Monsieur."

"Does Madame Giry know about this?" Christine nods. "And she lets you?" She nods again. "Does she allow any of the other girls the privilege of praying late at night in the chapel?" Should she nod and lie? If she does, then he'll find out that she lied when he sees that she is the only one who goes to pray. Should she shake her head? If she does, the he'll only question her further. "Well? Does she?"

"I…" Christine trails off, shrugging her shoulders. "…I don't know, Monsieur." She can't help but feel the sting of defeat as Monsieur Buquet smiles widely.

"Don't let me keep you any longer. Go and pray." He turns on his feet. "Good night, little girl." He leaves and disappears into a room, shutting the door behind him. Her mind runs blank. She's not sure what to make of Monsieur Buquet's excessive curiosity. Why does he want to find out if the Phantom exists or not? Does the Phantom exist?

"_Christine…_" A soft voice, so beautiful, so entrancing, surrounds her.

"Angel?" Christine questions, lifting her gaze to the scaffolding, searching for the source of the voice. She sees only darkness.

"_Have you forgotten your angel?_" He sings softly.

"I am so sorry." Christine keeps searching the scaffolding. "I could not stop thinking about the Phantom of the Opera. Does he exist, Angel?"

"_Christine, my daughter, come to our place of music…music_." Christine turns to see another yellow glow in the distance. She knows it's her Angel leading her to their place of music – the chapel. She runs to the light without hesitation, balancing the candle the whole way. Coming to the stairs she follows the yellow light down to the bottom floor. The light stops and she comes to the chapel door to see the candle on the floor, the dancing flame mirroring off the silver candleholder supporting it. She opens the door and picks up the second candle with her free hand. Shutting the door with her body, she steps forward to the rack of candles closer to her, sets both candles down on either side of her and lights a candle for Papa. Christine utters a quick Our Father, Hail Mary and Glory Be.

"Papa, I know you're in Heaven for I have been visited by the Angel of Music. I have forgotten him…but he has not forgotten me. Lord, thank you for everything you have given me, especially for the Angel of Music who has not and will not forget me. Amen." She makes a sign of the cross and as soon as she finishes, her Angel's voice surrounds her.

"You are late, my daughter."

"I know, my Angel, I'm sorry. The Phantom of the Opera has been filling my thoughts, taking over my mind, it seems. I had forgotten you, but you didn't forget me…"

"I will never forget you, Christine." Christine feels a ping of guilt. She needs to receive forgiveness and become clean again.

"Angel, will you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, child. You are as my daughter, and I love you."

"I love you, too." Christine says with a smile, feeling as if she's with her father again.

"How is your ballet doing?"

"It is alright. Meg finally got a compliment from Maman today!" She sits up excitedly.

"I saw that."

"You…saw that?" Christine wonders, the dots connecting. "Were you the dark shadow that I saw in the scaffolding?"

"Yes, that was me."

"Oh…" Christine trails off. "…I thought Angels were supposed to glow as bright as the sun."

"Well, I do not glow like the sun, obviously." He chuckles and hers joins his. As their chuckles die down he asks "How about you? Is ballet hard?"

"Oh, yes. She needs me to run and jump in one fluid motion without break. I thought I did after I took my first jump, but she told me otherwise."

"Well, as far as I am concerned, you have improved tremendously since you came here in January, in ballet…and in singing. Sing. Let's see how far you've come in projecting your voice."

"Of course, Angel!" Christine rises quickly and assumes the position with her feet lined up with her shoulders and her back straight. He laughs at her eagerness.

"Relax, Christine! Relax. Just relax your shoulders. Relax your whole body before you sing. If you are too stiff you will not be able to take in as much air."

"Oh, alright." Christine slackens her shoulders just a bit, creating a more comfortable stance.

"Very good. Now sing…hmm."

"Which song?" She can't help the excitement bubbling up in her. She loves singing so much.

"You pick. Anything you want to sing, sing. Just long as you demonstrate projection of your voice." Christine smiles. She gets to pick! As she searches her mental repertoire, she finds a chipper song.

"_Sing a new song! Rejoice!_

_The dawn is breaking,_

_The earth is waking,_

_Its dreams come true. _

_And do you hear the voice,_

_Darkness surprising,_

_Sing in its rising:_

_See, I am making all things new! _

_Whom shall we live for?_

_Whose mighty hand_

_Made the moon, the sun and stars on high?_

_Who made a way for us_

_Through water and the sand,_

_Brought us out of slavery_

_And fed us from the sky?_

_Sing a new song! Rejoice!_

_The dawn is breaking, _

_The earth is waking_

_Its dreams come true._

_And do you hear the voice, _

_Darkness surprising,_

_Sing in its rising:_

_See, I am making all things new!"_ She falls silent, listening for either his critique or his praise.

"That…was very good. You're still young, so you still have much to learn, but you're learning very quickly."

"So my projection was good?" Christine asks.

"Yes. I have no advice for you other than keep up what you're doing as it's working well." She smiles widely at this. Even if she can't earn Maman's compliment, she has earned a bigger one, one that she often thought she'd never achieve. A yawn comes up her throat and she lets it out. He chuckles. "Tired?"

"Yes. It's been a long day. Angel?"

"Yes?"

"Could you sing for me?"

"There's really nothing else for me to teach you at the moment. Of course. What do you want me to sing?" The song fills her head as she sits down on the floor, pushing both candles away from her.

"My Heart Will Go On."

"Alright. Sure." His voice surrounds her, soft and sweet.

" _Every night in my dreams_

_I see you, I feel you,_

_That is how I know you go on_

_Far across the distance_

_And spaces between us_

_You have come to show you go on._" Christine can't help but close her eyes, his voice becoming her world.

"_Near, far, wherever you are_

_I believe that the heart does go on_

_Once more you open the door_

_And you're here in my heart_

_And my heart will go on and on_." She lies down on the floor, starting to fall asleep.

"_You're here, there's nothing I fear,_

_And I know that my heart will go on_

_We'll stay forever this way_

_You are safe in my heart_

_And my heart will go on and on_." She falls asleep, his song filling and shaping her dreams.

**Author's note: So this is the end of the third chapter. I plan on writing a chapter for each year of her life up to the age of twenty...I might skip a couple of years. Just a heads up. I'll do my best to get chapter 4 out soon. Thanks again and please let me know what you think in your reviews. I do appreciate feedback and I will take everything to heart. Thanks again. :)**


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